There's Always Light
by MoonytheMarauder1
Summary: A collection of Trio-era drabbles. Thanks to Angel for the cover! Latest: Draco isn't about to let someone else's opinion get in the way of what he really wants. Drarry fluff.
1. Between the Coffins

**A/N: Hey y'all! Some Drarry fluff :)**

**Word Count: 414**

**Enjoy!**

Draco never would have thought kissing his boyfriend between vampire coffins would feel incredible, but there really was no better word for it.

He curled his fingers in Harry's thick, unruly hair, cherishing the warmth that spread through his body. It was a cold night, and even colder in the Muggle haunted house he'd been convinced to try, but the fire within him was burning hotly.

Eventually, the two pulled away from each other, breathing heavily. Around them, fake howls and moans filled the silence, as did the occasional scream of a child who'd snuck in. Draco gazed, transfixed, at Harry. He was dressed as the Muggle conception of a vampire—which was ridiculous, in Draco's opinion—and had forced his boyfriend into ripped clothes and smeared fake blood on his face. A zombie, he called it.

Really, Draco wasn't sure who'd come up with such a far-fetched idea, but if it encouraged Harry to pull him into dark corners… well, he could tolerate it for one night.

"So, remind me why Muggles deliberately scare themselves on this night," Draco requested, slightly out of breath and ignoring Harry's smirk.

The half-blood shrugged. "It's fun. The rush of adrenaline, and then taking the mickey out of your mates afterwards…"

"That is not _fun_, Potter. It's potentially humiliating."

"Well, I like it," Harry said decidedly. "I never got to go when I was younger… I could never get my aunt and uncle's permission."

Draco bristled at the mention of _those people_. "Then let's continue through the house. We're supposed to find the exit, aren't we?"

Harry stood and nodded, grinning like a fool. His green eyes were practically glowing in the dim light. "Mmhmm. Come on, we're supposed to leave the vampires and… I think we should go by the ghosts again."

Draco rolled his grey eyes. "We just came that way, Potter."

"Yeah, but there's a rickety staircase on the other side that we didn't go up."

_Of course._ "Fine, but I expect to be valiantly rescued if I fall through rotten wood."

Harry through back his head and laughed, and Draco wondered how it had taken him so long to realize that he cared about the Gryffindor, not hated him. But now that the war was over… they had all the time in the world to make up for his earlier obtuseness.

So he took Harry's hand and allowed him to guide him through the moaning walls and puddles of slime.

That was love, after all.


	2. Content With What If

**A/N: Hey y'all! Some unrequited MarcusOliver for you. **

**Word Count: 326**

**Enjoy!**

Marcus watched from the bleachers as Wood soared around the Quidditch Pitch. The Gryffindor was practicing complicated maneuvers on his own, blissfully unaware that he was being watched by the Slytherin captain.

Marcus' dark eyes were fixed on Oliver. He yearned for the courage to just come clean to the other boy, to admit that their rivalry wasn't because of any jealousy on Marcus' part, but rather the fact that he was afraid of the strength of his feelings for the Gryffindor.

It had come as a punch to the stomach, the news that Oliver was dating a Weasley. Had Marcus known men stood a chance with the handsome keeper, he'd have made a move ages ago.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Marcus shook his head at himself. He had everything he could want: a quality broom, the captain position, wealth… all he was really missing was a certain Gryffindor.

Why did that one thing seem to outweigh all the others? Why was Oliver so special?

Why was Percy Weasley special enough to earn the Quidditch player's attention?

There wasn't a logical answer. There wasn't a solution to his problem, short of sabotaging Weasley… but the man had too many brothers that could outsmart Marcus. He'd need his fellow Slytherins' help to even stand a chance, and he knew that a majority of them would not be impressed by his conquest to secure Wood's heart.

So Marcus watched, unseen. Invisible.

He wouldn't stay that way for long, of course. When Gryffindor and Slytherin went head-to-head at the next Quidditch match, Oliver's attention would be trained on Marcus. But not the way he wanted.

Never the way he wanted.

But if all he could ever be was Oliver's opponent… he'd have to content himself with that.

Above him, Oliver caught a Quaffle he'd charmed to fly at him. Marcus allowed himself a small smile of admiration before it fell back into his regular scowl.


	3. A Bit of Luck

**A/N: Hey y'all! Some Dursleys for you. :)**

**Word Count: 619**

**Enjoy!**

Dudley didn't think much of it when he was younger, but as he grew he came to realize that the behaviors his mother had taught him weren't… common. No one else at school avoided stepping on sidewalk cracks. No one else made sure to toss spilled salt over their shoulder.

They didn't regard those who walked under a ladder like they'd just received a lethal injection.

They didn't avoid black cats like the plague.

Thirteen, to them, was just a number.

And it made Dudley wonder if it was his mother who was a freak. Because surely, the whole rest of the world couldn't be?

So he asked his father about it.

And that was when Dudley learned exactly how terrified of magic his mother really was.

"She sees threats everywhere," his father had gruffly explained to him, looking sad. "She doesn't want all that hocus-pocus to touch our family, so she does all she can to prevent disasters."

"But Dad," Dudley, twelve, had protested. "Does any of it actually, _work?_"

Slowly, Vernon shook his head. "No, son. But let's let her do it; it isn't hurting anyone, and it makes her feel in control. You've no idea what a shock it was to her, having a filthy witch as a sister."

Dudley didn't know. They'd always treated Harry like the freak he was. He'd always known there was something _wrong_ with his cousin. He tried to imagine, for a moment, having a sibling to love and cherish, and then one day finding out that that sibling was not _normal_.

It was a terrifying thought.

So he heeded his father's words for once and left his mother alone about it. He adhered to her superstitions when she was around, but once, in private, he'd jumped on a sidewalk crack. He'd rushed home in a panic, certain that he'd hurt his mother—

But her back was fine. She was none the wiser to what he'd done.

So Dudley lost those habits gradually. Petunia never did, though. Sometimes it didn't matter, and sometimes it made Dudley madder than anything.

"I want to go to the party, Mummy!" he'd shouted one day. "I want to go! I don't want to be stuck here all summer."

Petunia had turned her blue-eyed gaze on him, her eyes tormented. "I know, Diddykins, I know… but that family has a black cat." She shivered. "You know what those do to me. I'm terribly allergic."

She was terribly afraid, is what it was, but Dudley caught his father's warning look and caught his tongue before he said something biting to his mother. Her sulked for a bit, but… but he still humored her. And it frustrated him, but the extra pocket money his father had slipped him in reward had helped soothe his anger.

When he was thirteen, he thought that, maybe, the problem was that his mother only saw bad luck. He'd thought that she might ease up a bit if she came across _good _luck for once.

He would spend hours in the garden, looking for four-leaf clovers to deliver to her. The first few weeks of hunting were slow and frustrating, but once he'd gotten the hang of it, Petunia received one nearly every day.

He always pretended not to notice the way she'd get misty-eyed as she said thank you, or the tender care with which she regarded the little plants.

It didn't solve her problem, but he thought that she did look happier, so… he continued to do it. And he thought that, maybe, quirks didn't make anyone abnormal.

Petunia was still his mother, after all. No amount of luck could change that, and she made sure to let him know it.


	4. A Chance

**A/N: Hey y'all! Some angst for you… oops.**

**Word Count: 355**

**Enjoy!**

It was incredible, really, how much his heart could ache. How scared he could be. How sad.

But Xenophilius was alone in his house, his daughter's lighthearted humming horribly absent. With trembling fingers, Xenophilius turned the page of his newspaper. He read three lines before the grief overcame him and he had to stop.

They'd taken his little girl. They'd taken his Luna, his sweet, sweet child. He didn't know where she was, what was happening to her… or even if she was still alive.

The first sob escaped his throat, and he did his best to smother it. He hadn't even been this distressed when Pandora died. Then, at least, he'd had all the answers, and he'd known the risks of his wife's experiments. He didn't know anything about what they were doing to Luna.

He had to do something. He needed her back. It was his job to keep her safe, and he'd failed that. But he was at a loss as to how he could fix things; they wanted Harry Potter, but Xenophilius hadn't even spoken to the boy properly.

He'd fallen into a pit of despair. He was immobile, useless; he'd stop printing the Quibbler, he hadn't been eating properly, and sleep had evaded him for weeks. He needed to break the cycle.

But he'd never been a hero, had he?

But then—there. Outside his window… it couldn't be.

But it was. Harry, Hermione, Ron—Luna had described them in enough detail that he could identify them on sight. They were approaching the door, and Xenophilius' heartbeat quickened.

He couldn't believe his luck. This was his chance, his moment to save his daughter. All he'd have to do is contact the Death Eaters—

Xenophilius thought of Luna's bedroom ceiling, and the names written on it. He felt a pang of guilt for even considering trying to put Harry, a mere boy, in danger… but could he put Harry's life above his daughter's?

Even if she never forgave him, it might be worth it. It was a chance he had to take.

When they knocked on the door, he opened it and smiled.


	5. Worth the Wait

**A/N: Hey y'all! Some DudleyPiers. **

**Word Count: 457**

**Enjoy!**

Dudley stared at the door of the building that had once been his house. It still was, technically… but it didn't feel like a home anymore. Of course, his parents were trying to move back in as quickly as possible. They wanted things to go back to normal, but Dudley doubted it ever would.

There had been a war, after all. Harry had been right in the thick of it, and… it was the first time he'd be living completely without his cousin—that he could remember, anyway. There wouldn't be anything normal about that.

Dudley scuffed his shoe against the pavement, unsure of how to proceed. He couldn't have his old life back. He wasn't even sure he wanted it.

"Wasn't sure I'd be seeing you again."

Dudley jumped, startled, then turned to see a tall, lanky boy with dark hair that fell into his eyes. Piers Polkiss.

Piers cocked his head to the side. "You've changed, Big D."

Dudley didn't respond; his mouth was too dry. The last time he'd seen Piers, they'd shared a kiss in the park at dusk. The next morning, Dudley and his family were whisked away into hiding, unable even to write.

He wondered what Piers must think of him.

The other boy crossed his arms, looking cross—which Dudley knew was a front to hide his hurt. "Aren't you going to say anything? Or were you just planning on gawking?"

"I'm sorry." The words rushed from Dudley's mouth before he could really think about what he was saying. "I know I left, and it wasn't because of you. It was a family thing and I'm… I'm sorry."

Piers laughed softly, and it was the most self-deprecating sound Dudley had ever heard. "Never thought I'd live to see the day that Dudley Dursley apologized." Blue eyes closed tightly. "You could have called."

Dudley shook his head slowly. "I wanted to, but I couldn't. It's a long story, mate." He exhaled slowly. "A long, fucking insane story. I'd need Harry to explain it all right."

"Thought you didn't need him for anything."

Dudley was quiet for a long time. "I was wrong about a shit ton of things, wasn't I?"

Piers nodded slightly. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Dudley offered again.

"I know."

The silence stretched on, add Dudley searches desperately for inspiration on what to say—but he came up blank.

Piers didn't mince words, though.

"I'm glad you're back. Even if it wasn't for me."

Dudley looked sharply at him. "I didn't," he said carefully, "but you're why I'm staying."

"Oh." Piers' hands stuffed themselves in his pockets. "That's—that's good, then. That's nice."

Dudley grinned. "Fancy a smoke in the park?"

Piers chuckled. "Been waiting a whole year for you to ask me that."


	6. No More Second Chances

**A/N: Hey y'all! Some Cornelius Fudge and OCs. **

**Word Count: 852**

**Enjoy!**

He'd been sacked. Run out of office might be a more accurate term, but the connotation was the same. He, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was officially a disgrace. He didn't have anywhere to go… except for here.

If he was even accepted.

He wrung his bowler hat nervously in his hands as he waited for his sister to open the door. She was a Squib, something his family had once been very ashamed of. He was guilty of belittling Joanne, too, but she always was the better of the two of them. She might still take him in, if he was lucky.

What Cornelius hadn't expected was the child who answered the door.

"Hullo!" the little boy who'd opened the boy chirped. "Who're you?"

Cornelius blinked, wondering if he'd knocked on the wrong door. "Er."

"Jeremy! Who's at the door, love?"

The little boy—Jeremy, Cornelius assumed—just watched his visitor blankly, awaiting an answer. Cornelius cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"I'm Conelius Fudge, young man. Do you know Joanne Fudge?"

In response, Jeremy turned on his heel and shouted into the house, "Mummy! It's for you!"

A few seconds later, Joanne walked up to the door, a toddler in one arm and her free hand resting on her very pregnant stomach. Cornelius gaped.

Joanne's blue eyes—just like his own—widened. "Oh. You're here." She didn't sound pleased.

Cornelius licked his lips. "You're married. With a family. I… I hadn't known."

"I hadn't wanted you to," Joanne said quietly. She looked down at the boy, who couldn't be more than six, and said, "Jeremy, honey, you take your sister into your room to play, okay?"

Joanne sat the toddler on the floor, and Jeremy took her hand and led her away without fuss. Joanne then turned back to Cornelius, her hands on her hips. "I don't want you to come in," she said bluntly. "I don't need my children exposed to your toxicity."

It was a justified statement, but it stung nonetheless. Cornelius remembered the days when his little sister would applaud him for every simple task accomplished—and when he would do the same for her. He remembered having vegetable eating contests with her, sprinting across fields, climbing trees… and that awful day when she hadn't received a letter on her eleventh birthday.

He'd been told to be embarrassed, so he had been. He hadn't paid a second thought to abandoning her.

And he had the audacity to ask for her help now.

"_Cornelius._ Are you listening to me? Why are you here?"

He blinked himself out of his reverie, focusing back on his sister. "I, er, that is to say, I've… I've come for your help."

Joanne snorted. "You want my help."

He hung his head. "I do," he admitted softly. "I don't deserve it—Merlin knows I don't—but I do need it."

"What do you need help with?"

"I need a place to stay for a while… I've been kicked out of office." The words were hard to get out, but he knew he had to be candid now; it was the only way Joanne might listen.

She looked surprised by his admission. "Weren't you working your way up in the Ministry? I thought being Minister was your dream; it isn't like you to do anything to jeopardize that."

Cornelius tugged at his collar. "Yes, well, you see… I was. Minister, that is. For a while. But I… Voldemort returned, and I refused to believe it. He… killed some people before the truth got out. I thought they were just the ravings of a madman—you have to believe I didn't intend any harm on anyone—"

"No," Joanne said dryly, "just harm on the person you accused of lying."

His mouth snapped shut. There really was nothing he could say to that.

Joanne narrowed her eyes at him. "People deserve to know the truth. Ignoring a situation doesn't make it go away… but you never were one for confrontation, were you?"

"No," Cornelius admitted in a whisper. "I'm not."

Joanne looked at him doubtfully. "I don't think I want you by my kids. They don't need to be belittled."

"I don't—I made mistakes then, Joanne. I'm not a perfect man—I'm a selfish one, I'll admit that readily—but I wouldn't come into your home and insult you or your children. If you let me stay, you wouldn't even need to speak to me. I just need to get back on my feet."

Joanne closed her eyes. "There are two kids in there who are learning kindness. It is for them that I'm letting you stay—two weeks, tops. This is your _only_ second chance."

Relief flooded Cornelius. "Thank you, Joanne. You won't regret it."

Her lips thinned. "Make sure I don't. Come in, then; I'll need to set you up a bed."

"I can do that, thank you." Cornelius glanced at her stomach. "Er—congratulations."

"Huh? Oh." Joanne let out a startled laugh. "Thank you. You know, maybe you could use some of that magic to ease the aching in my back."

Cornelius chuckled appreciatively, then followed his sister inside. One more chance. He wouldn't blow this one.


	7. Wanted

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. **

**Beauty Therapy Task 8: Write about a character playing with another person's hair**

**Word Count: 575**

**Note: Padma is asexual in this fic, so the romantic feelings are there, but she has no desire to make her relationship physical. **

**Enjoy!**

Padma relaxed against Anthony's chest, content in his arms. It was their one-year anniversary, and perhaps that was making her particularly sentimental, because she was completely taken by the man behind her.

Anthony was unlike any man she'd met before. She was completely comfortable with him; there was no pressure to add anything physical to their relationship. Before Anthony, her boyfriends had always grown impatient with her, or accused her of going through a phase.

Not Anthony Goldstein. He understood her boundaries, and he respected them.

Padma felt fingers on her scalp, brushing through her midnight black hair. She sighed in contentment as Anthony began separating the strands into sections and weaving them intricately together. He hummed softly in response, and though Padma couldn't see him, she knew that he was smiling at the back of her head.

"What's going on in that brain of yours, hmm?" he asked softly. "You've been quiet for a while now."

Padma lifted and dropped one shoulder in a disinterested shrug. "I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you," she murmured, smiling slightly.

Anthony snorted. "I appreciate it, love, but I'm not sure I'm worthy of such deep reflection?"

"And why not?" Padma asked, twisting around so she could look him right in his blue eyes. "Why aren't you?"

Anthony frowned crossly as her hair fell from his fingers. "I'll have to start over, you know."

"Why?" Padma pressed, ignoring his pouting.

Anthony sighed and cupped her face with his hands. "It wasn't a self-deprecating comment. I only meant that you seemed very far away, and you typically only get that way when you're thinking very hard about something."

"Oh." Padma settled back in his arms, and Anthony resumed playing with her hair. "In that case, I suppose you could say that I was just thinking how glad I am that you're not some daft man who doesn't validate my feelings."

"Yeah," Anthony quipped, "I like to think I'm not a total berk."

Padma shoved his knee. Anthony paused for a moment and leaned down to press a quick kiss on the junction between her neck and shoulder. "You know I love you, right Padma? I don't need a physical relationship to be happy. Having you is enough."

Padma lifted a dark, slender hand up and backwards until her palm was flat against his head, her fingers curling in his dark brown hair. She looked into his royal blue eyes and bit her lip, overcome with emotion.

"You're really remarkable, did you know that?" she asked quietly.

Anthony hummed and continued plaiting her hair, but he leaned forwards to peck his girlfriend on her temple. "So are you," he murmured. "Now, sit up properly so I can finish this."

Chuckling to herself, Padma obeyed. Anthony plaited and then re-plaited her hair for the next several minutes, the smooth, calm motions lulling Padma into a very lax state. Her breathing slowed, and she eventually began to drift off in the arms of her lover.

When she'd begun dating Anthony right before graduation a year before, she hadn't thought that she would grow to love him so much. But through all their hardships, he'd stayed. Through all her insecurity, he'd stayed. And in return, she'd stayed through all of his.

She felt safe, loved, _wanted_. And it was that feeling of complete trust that allowed her to fall asleep in his arms, a smile on her face.


	8. Independent

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Dennis is nonbinary in this story**

**Games and Sports Task 3: Write a fic featuring characters passing notes to each other **

**Word Count: 1177**

**WARNINGS: Mentions of NB phobia, language**

**Enjoy!**

Dennis swallowed nervously as they walked towards Colin. The note clenched tightly in their hand seemed like it was burning them—they wanted to both drop it and cling to it. They'd shared this system of communication with their brother for years; if a Creevey wrote a note and passed it, it was classified as an emergency.

But it was humiliating for Dennis to admit they needed help. This wasn't a _help, I have a crush on a boy_ note. It wasn't an _I really need help in this class—I might fail it_ note. This was an _I'm being bullied and don't know what to do_ note.

Dennis wasn't looking forward to their brother's reaction.

More than anything, Dennis wished they were stronger. They'd never been a great duellist, and that made them an easy target. Dennis didn't usually ask their big brother to fight their battles for them, but they just couldn't see another way out in this case.

Dennis pushed their blond hair out of their face nervously as they approached Colin's seat. Without any indication that he'd acknowledged their brother, Dennis dropped the note into Colin's lap. An explosion of nerves immediately followed in their stomach, but they just kept on walking.

* * *

_Colin,_

_Meet me in the Room of Requirement after dinner tonight. Remember that list of possibilities we came up with during the summer? Number one is happening._

_Dennis_

* * *

"Who is it?"

That was the demand Colin first made when he entered the Room of Requirement that night, his normally jovial blue eyes blazing. Nothing made Colin more intimidating than when he was going on a rampage to protect his sibling—Dennis was hoping to lessen that fury so the two of them could come up with a plan.

Dennis shrugged their shoulders, not quite looking at their brother. "That doesn't matter… I just want to know how to make it stop."

Colin fiddled with the camera strap around his neck and paced back and forth a few steps; a product of his ADHD, Dennis knew. The familiar habits, strangely, made them feel more relaxed.

"Dennis," Colin said in a strained voice, "it does matter. What—what have they been saying?"

Dennis shuffled their feet. "Basic stuff. I don't want to talk about that." They looked up at their brother, who was still shifting agitatedly. "I need advice, not revenge."

Colin sighed deeply. "Fine," the fifteen-year-old said regretfully. "I suppose… have you spoken to McGonagall yet?"

Dennis shook their head after a moment's hesitation. They'd thought about it, of course, but they hadn't gotten up the courage to admit their true gender to their Head of House. "No. I don't want her to… what if she doesn't understand?"

"Then we go to Dumbledore," Colin said, but he didn't sound convinced. "Or… we could tell a prefect first, maybe?"

Dennis thought of all the ways that could potentially go wrong and shook their head. "No," they said quietly. "All those things just might make it worse."

Colin marched over to one of the two armchairs in the room and sat down with a huff. "We have to do _something_."

Dennis went over to occupy the second armchair and dropped their head into their hands. "I wish I was in your year… then I'd know all the same spells. And how to counter them."

Colin looked at them sideways. "They're all older than you?"

Dennis bit their lip. "A bit," they admitted. They ran a hand through their blond hair, embarrassed.

Colin scowled and opened his mouth, probably to say something scathing, but then his face changed into a thoughtful one. "Dennis… I might have an idea. Leave it to me."

Without another word, Colin had run out of the room. Stunned, Dennis was left to wonder what solution Colin had come up with.

Not knowing what it was made Dennis nervous.

* * *

_Colin,_

_It's getting worse._

_Dennis_

* * *

_Dennis,_

_Stay in my dorm tonight. Don't listen to the bastards._

_Colin_

* * *

_Colin,_

_Mum would kill you if she saw that. I had to burn it to ease my guilty conscience about your language._

_Thanks for letting me sleep with you, but I'm thirteen, not three. It isn't the boogeyman that I'm afraid of. Besides, everyone in my dorm is safe._

_Dennis_

* * *

_Dennis,_

_Meet me in the Room of Requirement after dinner tonight. Bring your wand._

_Colin_

* * *

Dennis blinked at their older brother, confused. "But… the whole point of being a third year is that I can't perform fifth year spells."

It was a week after their first post-dinner meeting, and after seven days of passing notes back and forth about the bullying Dennis was receiving for their gender, they were ready for a real solution. Colin's idea of teaching them advanced spells seemed ridiculous, though; they didn't have the right foundation.

Colin shook his head. "I know, I know. But you wouldn't really be learning new spells… just perfecting old ones. If Harry Potter can fight Voldemort with a one-spell arsenal, you can fight off a couple bullies. We just need to strengthen the spells you know."

The idea, Dennis had to admit, had potential. They clapped their hands together, hope beginning to spark in their chest. "Okay. When do we start?"

Colin straightened up, looking pleased. "Tomorrow," he said firmly. "We can meet here every evening, if you want."

Dennis nodded. "That sounds good."

"Okay," Colin murmured. "Good."

But Colin was tapping a beat on his thigh, which Dennis knew meant that something was on his mind. They waited for their brother to confess, since Colin never could keep a secret for very long.

"Dennis, you—you trust me, don't you?" Colin blanched at himself, then waved his freckled arms about in nonsensical gestures. "I only mean… you didn't want to tell me about this, and you still won't give me names."

Dennis crossed his thin arms. "I want to do this alone. I trust you, but you can't do everything for me."

Colin nodded slowly. He might not truly understand what Dennis meant—he'd never had to experience what Dennis did—but he was trying, at least. "I just want to make sure you know that you're safe with me," Colin whispered. "If someone is hurting you… I want to know about it."

Dennis sighed, some of their annoyance melting away. "I get it," they murmured. "I'd want to know if it was happening to you. But… this is something I deserve to handle on my own, if I want."

"Yeah," Colin agreed, looking miserable. "Yeah, I know."

Dennis let him ponder that for a moment before raising their wand. "What's first?"

Colin appeared to recognize the olive branch. He wasn't fiercely protecting his sibling, but he was helping. It seemed to be enough. "Let's work on your _expelliarmus_ first."

Dennis grinned. "Sounds good."

* * *

_Colin,_

_Thanks for helping me today._

_Dennis_

* * *

The next week, Dennis was eating breakfast in the Great Hall when they felt something fall into their lap. They looked down to see a folded piece of parchment. Frowning, they opened it.

_Dennis, _

_Kick their asses for me._

_Colin_


	9. Lonely Together

**A/N: Hey y'all! Some GinnyMichael. Kinda**

**Word Count: 323**

**Enjoy!**

Ginny looked around the room, feeling a bit out of place in her sage dress robes. All the other girls at the Yule Ball had pastel colors on… and they were much older than she was.

Ginny glanced over at Neville. He'd danced with her a few times, but she'd have to be blind not to realize that he'd wanted to go with someone else to the ball. When she followed his gaze, she realized that he was watching the pretty blonde Hufflepuff in his year.

Ginny suppressed a sigh. She'd wanted this to be a fun night, but she knew that she didn't quite belong. It seemed suddenly stupid that she'd come to a place where she wouldn't have many friends… now there was no one to share her pain.

Ginny leaned over to Neville. "I'm going to go get something to eat," she told him, struggling to be heard over the music. "I'll be back in a bit."

Neville nodded, smiling kindly at her. "Okay. Take your time."

"I will."

She didn't go get food, though; she walked over to the side of the Great Hall where chairs had been lined up and plopped herself down in one. She watched the other happy couples dancing and wished there was someone who looked at her like that. She didn't delude herself; she knew nothing serious every happened at thirteen. Still, she thought that the feeling, however fleeting, of being desired would be nice.

"Hey. What are you doing alone?"

Ginny looked up to see a boy in Ron's year approaching her. He offered her a small wave. "I'm Michael Corner," he said.

She nodded. "Ginny Weasley. To answer your question, I decided to leave my date to his pining."

Michael laughed softly. "Maybe we could sit together? I sort of did the same thing."

Ginny considered for a moment, then thought, _what the hell_.

"Come on then, Corner. Let's be lonely together."


	10. New Risks

**A/N: Hey y'all! Have some Drarry :)**

**Word Count: 410**

**Note: This is a post-war!au :)**

**Thanks to Angela for beta-ing!**

**Enjoy!**

"I just worry, you know," Harry murmured quietly, swallowing thickly, "that the papers will be all over this, that they'll—that they'll twist it into something ugly."

Draco was lying against his lover's chest, his grey eyes flickering across a page of the book he was reading. "Oh, they will," he drawled.

The hands that had been carding through Draco's hair were suddenly withdrawn, and he missed the warmth and pressure. He let out a sound of protest, which Harry paid no mind to.

"This isn't a joke, Draco. It's not me they're going to be attacking, you know. I don't want that for you."

Harry sounded so distraught that Draco marked his page and sat up properly, turning around to face his boyfriend. He raised a brow, daring Harry to interrupt as he spoke. "You're right. They won't attack the savior of the wizarding world; they'll come after the Death Eater who roams free. They'll claim I _Imperius_ed you, or that I've muddled your brains some other way. The majority of them won't be accepting."

Draco leaned forwards and brushed his lips against Harry's. The Christmas lights were flashing golden around them, their reflections catching in Harry's glasses—never mind the fact that it was New Year's Eve. As festive as the decorations of the flat they (secretly) shared were, Harry's green eyes were tormented and _scared_.

It always baffled him how he, Draco Malfoy, was the only person the great Harry Potter could feel so terrified for. It seemed bizarre, but then again, Harry's Auror adventures had sent him through more than one heart attack.

Draco's slim, pale fingers reached up and threaded through Harry's unruly dark hair. Outside, there were people counting down to midnight, getting ready to set off fireworks to celebrate the new year.

The new year. New chances. New love. New risks.

Draco was ready for a happy life with Harry, and it wouldn't be the opinions of others that stopped him.

He pressed his forehead against Harry's. "It's going to be hard," he whispered. "I won't deny that. But you know what?"

Harry licked his lips, staring into Draco's eyes as though he could never get enough of them. "What?"

Draco grinned. "It's none of their bloody business what we do, Potter."

The clock chimed twelve, and Draco took the opportunity to pull his boyfriend in for the first kiss of the new year.

His heart swelled when Harry kissed him back just as fiercely.


	11. Before We Met

**A/N: Hey y'all! This is an AU where Harry left Malkin's instead of Draco when they first met, and Draco's thoughts afterwards. **

**Word Count: 361**

**Enjoy!**

Draco Malfoy frowned as he watched the boy go. Something was bothering him. He felt like he should know the boy, even if the black-haired kid hadn't seemed to know anything, practically, about the wizarding world.

He might even be Muggleborn, which was a horrific thought.

But still…

"Lift your arms please, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Malkin told him, sounding a little more than a bit irritated that he'd chased away one of her customers. He rolled his eyes, which were silver in the light, but wisely obeyed.

As the old woman was sticking pins in places mich too close to his body for comfort, Draco thought about the mystery boy. His appearance was familiar, yet Draco was sure he'd never seen anyone who looked like the boy. Atrocious dark hair, glasses, green eyes, and that awful cut on his forehead…

A thought cake to Draco, and he tried to wrap his mind around it for a moment. Could he have been… had that been… Harry Potter? Hadn't Harry Potter been sent to live with Muggle relatives?

Draco shoved the thought away, disgusted and a little bit terrified with himself. If he'd just blown a chance to befriend Harry Potter before anyone else could, there was no way Draco's father would leave him alive.

Because Harry Potter would be a strategical ally. How could be not be? There were some who would follow Potter's word like religion, who would fall over to assist the boy who had, somehow, saved them all. And the Malfoys wouldn't be on the losing side again.

Draco straightened his spine. If that really had been Harry Potter, he'd have to make amends as best he could. If the Boy Who Lived was attending Hogwarts this year, it was time to do his part in making sure the Malfoys came out on top. He'd been preparing for this his whole life—he'd just never imagined that he'd have to do it at eleven.

Finally, Madam Malkin was finished. "Thank you," he told her shortly, then purchased his things and went to find his parents. Even if it hadn't been Potter he'd spoken to, his father would hear about this.


	12. Relief

**A/N: Hey y'all! Some fluffy HarryDracoTheo for you. :)**

**Word Count: 492**

**Enjoy!**

Theo straightened his tie, and small frown on his face. This was the first date he'd have with Harry and Draco both. He was no stranger to polyamorous relationships, but he had to admit that he was a bit hesitant to be with both of them. They'd been dating for ages; he didn't want to feel out of the loop.

Before he could dwell on his worries too long, Draco's head popped through the door. "Are you coming, Nott? Potter's getting anxious. He seems to think you're getting cold feet."

Theo snorted. "Of course I'm not," he said, his heart warming slightly when Draco used his surname—which he'd learned was what the blond used as a term of endearment. "I'll be down in just a moment."

Draco nodded, pleased. "All right, then. Don't be long." He disappeared again, leaving Theo alone. Deciding that stalling was only going to delay the inevitable, he patted down his dark hair, deemed it acceptable, and threw on his winter cloak before hurrying down to the Slytherin common room.

He was greeted by two men smiling widely at him—well, Harry was smiling. Draco's was closer to a smirk. But whatever the case, they were happy to see him.

Theo took a deep breath and smiled back.

Without further ado, Draco took control. He led Harry and Theo out of the castle, one arm hooked around Theo's shoulders and the other pulling on the neck of Harry's scarlet jumper, which appeared to be homemade. After several minutes of walking, they reached Hogsmeade.

"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," Harry suggested. "It's warm there, at least."

Draco turned to Theo for permission, and, a bit surprised at being asked his opinion, Theo gave it. Minutes later, the three were sitting in a secluded corner, butterbeers warming their hands. Theo was fishing around for something to say, but realized a second later he needn't have bothered; Harry hated uncomfortable silences.

"Theo, I hope you don't mind if Ron and Hermione join us in a few hours. Draco wanted to go to the bookshop, and it's one of Hermione's regular haunts."

Brown eyes flickered up to see green ones watching him intently. "That's fine, yes," he said softly. "What were you planning beforehand?"

Harry grinned as Draco groaned. "There's this new broom model—"

"You two can talk about Quidditch later," Draco drawled, raising a brow. "You'll bore me to death."

Harry challenged the statement. "You buy every new model you can get your hands on, and you're telling me you don't like talking about Quidditch?"

"I like playing. I like being the fastest. I couldn't care less about statistics."

Theo took a long drag of his butterbeer. "I suppose that's why Potter's a better seeker."

Draco squawked indignantly as Harry roared with laughter, and Theo felt his nerves melting away. He could do this. This would be fun. And to his immense relief, Harry and Draco seemed to think the same.


	13. After Hours

**A/N: Hey y'all! This is AmeliaJohnRemus… kinda loving it. Hopefully you will too.**

**Word Count: 334**

**WARNINGS: Extremely slight suggestive content**

**Enjoy!**

Amelia walked briskly through the Ministry halls, staring straight ahead. Men and women gave her a wide berth, knowing that she was not one to be crossed when she was on a mission.

After turning the corner, Amelia threw open the door of John Dawlish's office. She stormed inside, all billowing robes and fierce expressions. The two men inside, who'd been previously lip-locked, looked up. One wore an expression of deep trepidation; the other appeared amused.

"I don't know what you're smiling about, Remus Lupin," she scolded sharply. "You two were supposed to be in my office half an hour ago. _Anything_ could have happened to you—you're lucky I knew you well enough not to panic and spread word of your supposed abduction—"

"I knew that you wouldn't jump to any wild conclusions, despite the fact that there's a war going on," Remus said in that placating way of his. "And don't yell at poor John; he was reluctant to stay with me. He didn't want to upset you."

Amelia rapped her foot. She wasn't possessive by any means, but when she made an appointment with her lovers, she expected them to keep it. "John needs to learn to stop following your bad examples."

"John can think for himself," Remus countered.

"John is right here," John grumbled, his blue eyes flickering between Amelia and Remus.

Remus let out a laugh, the crow's feet around his eyes becoming more pronounced as he smiled. He'd aged prematurely, yes, but Amelia had never thought it took away from his handsomeness.

She put a hand on her hip feigning further annoyance—she never could stay mad at those two—and waited for one of the men to notice.

John cracked first. He cleared his throat. "We can go to your office now, Amelia, dear."

She lifted a brow in agreement. "Hop to it, boys. There are things to discuss."

As they filed past her out the door, Remus whispered to her, "Fun things, I hope."

Amelia just smirked at him.


	14. Lesser-Known Heroes

**A/N: Hey y'all!**

**Word Count: 355**

**Enjoy!**

Filius watched his students file out of the classroom, a fond smile on his face. They'd been a bit subdued today (all of his students had, under Dolores Umbridge's teachings), but they'd performed better than they had been. Filius suspected that was largely due to one student's recent interview.

Filius was used to discrimination. There was goblin blood in his veins; even the most open-minded of wizards sometimes looked down on him. He was no stranger to judgemental stares and whispered lies. So seeing one of his students stand firm in opposition to public opinion had made a very powerful impact on Filius.

Walking over to his desk, Filius took out a box in anticipation of his next class. Potter would be in attendance, and Filius would show his gratitude for the boy's bravery any way he could.

It was rare that he was so proud of a student for something outside of academics, but he'd always had a soft spot for the underdog. And if a student went above and beyond, he felt that it was only right to reward that behavior, especially in the face of controversy.

And Filius would always stand up for his students, no matter what enemies he made in the process. He was not a coward.

Then his students began filing into class, and Filius put his thoughts on hold. He taught the lesson, and he tried to bolster their spirits while he did it, though they were already chattering about Potter's interview.

It was so nice to see them lively again.

Then class was ending, and Filius grabbed the box filled with the delicious treats—or at least, he'd seen many of his students slipping ice mice out of their bags during class—and hurried to the door.

"Mr. Potter!" he called, and beckoned the boy over when he turned around. When Filius stuffed the box into his hands, he seemed surprised, but pleased. Harry thanked Filius sincerely, then smiled and went on to his next class.

Filius watched him go, pride swelling in his chest. Then, after a moment, he turned around to go and teach his next class.


	15. Spectacular

**A/N: Hey y'all! Have some Pomona. :)**

**Word Count: 401**

**Enjoy!**

Pomona had always prided herself on being able to coax even the most frightened of flowers into their true potential, and the same could be said of her students, though getting a human being to see their worth was remarkably harder. Still, Pomona had a talent for it; her welcoming nature and gentle encouragement had done wonders for many students.

Neville Longbottom, however, was quite a challenge.

The boy simply didn't believe in himself. There was almost no confidence in him; he felt that he failed at everything academic, he felt he wasn't an interesting person, he didn't believe himself to be brave—even his homework essays were written with the assumption that he was answering incorrectly.

But Pomona could see that there was something spectacular in him. She could see his worth plain as day, and she knew that all he needed was someone to believe in him.

She did so wholeheartedly. He had a real gift in Herbology, and when he was tending to plants, his hands didn't tremble. A soft, genuine smile would situate itself on his face, and nothing could distract him from the task at hand. When no one was watching him, his true self came out.

Pomona assisted where she could, praising him softly in class and writing encouraging feedback when necessary. She didn't baby him, though; her corrections were firm and absolute. Neville learned from each piece of criticism, which was more than could be said for most students.

But, shockingly, it was in his fifth year that he really blossomed.

So many children had withered under Dolores Umbridge's close eye. Pomona had found many students crying and trembling after that woman's classes, and she had to admit that she'd expected the shaky confidence Neville had built up over the past four years to crumble.

Instead, he straightened his spine.

Pomona caught him talking more, making corrections to students' techniques when asked his opinion, and asserting himself more. His wand movements, though they were rare in Herbology, were steady. There was a spark in his brown eyes that had been absent when he first came to school.

As he grew, so did Pomona's heart. There was nothing more gratifying than watching a student grow comfortable in their own skin, and Neville's transformation was an aweing one.

Pomona loved all her students, of course. But Neville Longbottom would always have a special place in her heart.


	16. Suspicion

**A/N: Hey y'all! Just some ViktorCedricFleur for you… little angsty. Canon compliant. **

**Word Count: 307**

**Enjoy!**

Viktor eyed his two lovers, who appeared just as nervous as he was to enter the maze. Only Harry, the youngest of them all, looked ready. Viktor frowned as he considered the boy, who, really, looked enitirely too used to heading into danger.

He was glad this was only a competition.

Right before the task was supposed to start, Cedric caught Viktor's eye. _Be careful_, the Hufflepuff mouthed in his direction, his blue eyes worried. Viktor gave him a small smile and acknowledged him with a nod. He wished he could give Cedric and Fleur each a goodbye kiss—and perhaps clap Harry on the back, just to wish him luck—but it would be impossible with the crowd watching.

Kisses would be for afterwards, then.

Still, something was unsettling Viktor. Something felt wrong, and his eyes kept flickering between Cedric and Fleur, who were stiff-backed but otherwise unsuspicious of the task before them.

Viktor turned slightly to look back at the table where the teachers sat. The Hogwarts professor, Moody, saw him looking and gave him a solemn nod. Viktor turned back to the maze, his stomach in knots.

* * *

An hour later, Viktor's fears hadn't left him. He was running through the maze now, a horrible tightening in his chest. He had an overwhelming urge to find Cedric and Fleur and get out of here—an instinct long buried was telling him something was amiss. And if there was one thing he'd learned from Quidditch, it was to listen to his instincts.

Suddenly, he stopped. There, some distance away, was Fleur; he could tell by the shimmer of her silvery blonde hair. He grinned in relief, prepared to hurry over and convince her, somehow, to abandon the tournament.

Just as he took a step forward, however, a voice he dimly recognized whispered from behind.

"_Imperio._"

Viktor's mind went blank.


	17. Longing

**A/N: Hey y'all! Have some angst. **

**Word Count: 300**

**Enjoy!**

Oliver's heartbeat thudded in his ears, his blood hot in his veins as he kissed Marcus.

He wasn't supposed to be doing this. They were rivals on the Quidditch Pitch and off, but something kept pulling Oliver back into these abandoned corridors. Marcus ran a rough hand through Oliver's hair, and the feel of the calluses were so different than what Oliver's previous lovers' hands had felt like…

"You're thinking too much," Marcus murmured against Oliver's lips.

"Shut up," Oliver managed to ground out, and he tightened his grip on the back of Marcus' neck. Eventually, the two pulled away from each other, panting heavily and staring at each ther with hooded eyes.

Yes; Marcus was fire. But Oliver couldn't take the heat.

Nevertheless, he let Marcus kiss him again.

* * *

He started dating Percy Weasley a week later. Percy was the opposite of Marcus—his red hair was in stark contrast to Marcus' dark locks, and his hands had ink stains instead of calluses. But he was smart and had a wicked tongue, which Oliver admired greatly.

Percy was a pretty perfect boyfriend, all things considered. He was stubborn as hell, confident in himself, and cared deeply about his friends and family, even if he had a hard time expressing it sometimes. So Oliver _should_ be happy.

But then Marcus would send him knowing looks from across the Great Hall, and Oliver knew that the person he was supposed to be with wasn't the person he really wanted.

But he just grabbed Percy's hand and squeezed it tightly.

Sometimes Percy would give him a small smile as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his blue eyes sad, and Oliver knew that he _knew_. Percy deserved his love, not this half-hearted affection.

But Oliver stayed with him anyway.


	18. Pure and Simple

**A/N: Hey y'all! Have some post-war KatieAlicia.**

**Word Count: 312**

**Enjoy!**

Katie Bell closed her eyes, trying briefly to ground herself as she and Alicia walked into the jewelry store. They were there to pick out their wedding rings, but…

Katie had never quite recovered from being cursed by that necklace, and the sight of them still made her skin crawl.

"Oh, Katie, look! It's gorgeous," Alicia said, rushing over to a display case. She peered closely at it, then frowned. "Bloody expensive, though. That won't do."

"Mmm, you're right." Katie wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. "Best not do that one, then."

Alicia sent her a suspicious look, but just took her girlfriend's hand and pulled her to another ring.

"Which do you like then, Katie? That would could be pretty."

Katie glanced over and tried to look interested. "It is," she agreed, trying to satisfy the other woman. "Beautiful. Maybe not for me, though."

Alicia lifted a dark brow, not fooled in the slightest. She put her hands on her hips and fixed Katie with a glare. "Spill," she demanded; Alicia was a woman who didn't need many words.

Katie cleared her throat. "I… I'm okay."

"I'm calling your bluff. Talk to me, love."

Katie sighed heavily. "I just… the necklaces. We're close to them, and I don't… it's silly."

Alicia's eyes softened, and she took a step forward to grasp Katie's hands tightly in her own. "It's not silly at all," she murmured. "That was a scary day." She ran her thumb over Katie's knuckles soothingly. "We can leave if you need to. We could try that Muggle online thing."

Katie looked at her lover with wide eyes. "You'd do that?"

"Of course!" Alicia kissed Katie's hand. "I love you. I don't want you to be stressed while we do this—at least, any more than you should be."

Katie relaxed, looking gratefully at her lover. "Thank you," she whispered.

Alicia dropped a kiss to Katie's lips in response.


	19. Carry On

**A/N: Hey y'all! This is angsty—you've been warned.**

**Word Count: 308**

**WARNINGS: referenced character death, grief**

**Enjoy!**

Angelina wasn't sure how she'd let George persuade her into coming to the graveyard, but here she was.

She closed her eyes, struggling against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. It had been a month since the final battle and a few weeks since the funeral, but her grief was still so _fresh_. She didn't know how to handle any of it.

A hand fell on her shoulder. Angelina didn't turn around. "How do you stand it?" she whispered, still looking at the headstone. "He was your brother… how do you keep going?"

George swallowed audibly before answering. "I just know that he'd want me to." George wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her close; Angelina had the sudden urge to cry. "I have good days and bad days," he admitted. "What's important is that we don't stop."

"He's _gone._" Angelina's voice was thick with tears. "Merlin, George, he's gone."

"I can't believe that," George argued, shaking his head. "If I start thinking like that, I'll never do anything ever again. He's here, sort of… He's in the shop. He's in my mind." George glanced at Angelina out of the corner of his eye. "He's in your heart."

The words were too much. She just broke down from the sheer truth of them, caught in a tidal wave of grief. George caught her when her legs gave out and held her tightly against his chest. It took her several moments to realize that he was shaking; he was crying, too.

They let it all out. They'd both been holding it in, trying to be strong, but neither could keep their head held high for forever. There had to be a limit, and they seemed to have reached it.

Angelina cried until she had no tears left. George wept with her the entire time.


	20. Lying in Wait

**A/N: Hey y'all! Here's some unrequited MarcusPercy. **

**Word Count: 457**

**WARNINGS: Language**

**Enjoy!**

_One. Two. Three._

Marcus grunted softly as he counted his pull-ups. He'd started over from one hundred and was, admittedly, reaching his limit. But he kept at it, partly because his fitness was a source of pride for him, and partly because Percy Weasley was reading in the bleachers, placed perfectly for wooing.

The Gryffindor hadn't so much as looked his way, but Marcus believed that it was only a matter of time. Percy was unique in the sense that he was a Gryffindor who didn't quite fit in with the other members of his House; normally Gryffindors banded together. But Percy's standoffishness was intriguing to Marcus, and he found himself wanted to learn more about the other boy.

To find the breaches in those walls and pull apart the cracks until the defenses were gone. He wanted nothing more than to take Weasley apart to see how he worked. If he liked what he saw, he'd stick around.

But he'd been trying to get Percy's gaze to follow him for weeks; the workouts weren't working. Marcus dropped to the ground and straightened up on the grass, his dark eyes glued on the figure sitting on the other side of the pitch. He made his way over, making sure to pull his shoulders back and puff out his chest. He was sweaty from the exercise, but his muscles were bulging; there was no way Percy could deny his advances.

He stopped directly in front of the seventh year, a wicked grin on his lips. After a moment, Percy seemed to notice that the shadow that had fallen over his book wasn't receding. He looked up, his blue eyes sharp and piercing.

"Can I help you?" he asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

Marcus leaned forward and lifted a dark brow. "Mind if I sit, Weasley?"

Percy wrinkled his freckled nose and sniffed. "If you must. I was just leaving, anyway."

And indeed, the Gryffindor began gathering up his things and packing them away. Marcus watched for a few moments, amused. "You're in a hurry, aren't you, Weasley?"

Percy didn't spare him a second glance as he threw his bag over his shoulder. "I wait for no man, Flint."

Marcus inclined his head in acknowledgement and waited for Percy to get a short distance away before saying, "A man as handsome as you shouldn't wait."

There it was: the reaction he'd been looking for. Percy turned around so quickly it looked almost painful, a blush on his face. "What did you say?"

Marcus only grinned. "You know what I said."

Moments passed in silence. Finally, Percy cleared his throat and turned around. "Fuck off, Flint."

Marcus' grin widened as Percy hurried away. He'd break the Gryffindor in eventually.


	21. Steady On

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Some angsty DeanPiers.**

**Word Cunt: 503**

**WARNINGS: There's some pretty graphic self-hate here. **

**Enjoy!**

Piers took one step forwards. Then another. Then another. Soon enough, he was outside of the house, immersed in the cool night air. He looked up at the sky and just tried to breathe.

He wasn't out there long before the door opened and someone approached him. Piers didn't turn around, but he did nod in acknowledgement as Dean seated himself on the porch step next to Piers.

"Hey," the younger man said softly.

Piers ducked his head. "Hey."

"You got out of bed."

Piers winced. "Yeah."

Dean sighed softly. "Care to tell me why?"

Finally, Piers turned his eyes to his lover. "You don't have to be out here," he whispered. "I do this nearly every night, Dean, and you're losing sleep over it. Go back to bed. I'll be okay by myself."

Dean raised a brow. "Do you _want_ me to leave?"

Piers didn't respond, though his throat felt tight. Dean had seen right through him, just as he always did. After a moment passed in silence, he felt deft fingers carding through his hair, drawing soothing circles on his scalp. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. For a second, some of his troubles alleviated.

But not for long.

Piers bit his lip and exhaled shakily. "I keep feeling like I've ruined things… not for myself. For other people." He'd only hinted to Dean before that he hadn't been a kind kid in his youth, but he'd never admitted to the extent of bullying he'd participated in. Especially with Harry Potter. He had a lot of regrets regarding Harry Potter. "The guilt keeps creeping up on me, and I can't sleep."

Happiness was a fragile thing, he thought bitterly. Just when he thought he could move on from his past mistakes and forgive himself, memories came back to haunt him and leave him wondering why he thought he deserved forgiveness in the first place.

Normally, he left this part out and told Dean that he couldn't sleep because of nightmares. Normally, he tried to paint himself in a light he thought Dean would like to see him in.

Tonight, something told him it was time to come clean. He didn't mention any names, but he admitted to the extensive guilt he felt, and how much it was hindering him. He told Dean all of it, and it was both terrifying and liberating.

Dean was quiet for a long time. Piers braced himself, thinking that this was it. All his secrets were laid bare. Dean had no choice now but to see him as the person he truly was.

Then a hand took his.

"I think you should talk to someone," Dean told him quietly. "Someone who can help. This torment… you don't deserve it." Dean leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to his lover's head. "You don't deserve it, babe. And we can get that happiness."

And then Piers was crying, from relief, fear, gratitude—all of it. And through it all, Dean help him without any sign of regret.


	22. Never Out of Place

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. PercyViktor… yes, it's a new ship that you will be seeing more of. Sorry not sorry. Takes place during the Triwizard Tournament.**

**Word Count: 601**

**WARNINGS: Some self-deprecating thoughts**

**Enjoy!**

Percy wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up with his hand held firmly in Viktor's, but he didn't find himself minding it.

Viktor looked back at the Gryffindor excitedly, his blue eyes shining brightly. Percy felt himself go a bit pink; the Quidditch player's affections hadn't been something he'd anticipated. In fact, there had been nights were the question of _why _burned through Percy, forcing sleep away and demanding all of his energy.

But then morning would come again, and Viktor would smile at him from across the Great Hall, unaware that Percy was so tortured by his attention.

Percy let himself be pulled onto the Durmstrang ship with hardly a word of protest. He had a vague feeling that he wasn't supposed to be there, but he doubted he could get into any serious trouble with Krum in his company; Karkaroff seemed to bend to the boy's every whim. So he followed Viktor willingly into the belly of the boat, sparing hardly a thought to the fact that he could be using this free period to study—which was very uncharacteristic of him.

Viktor stopped and turned to look adoringly at Percy, who had to admit that it was the Bulgarian who wrote all the rules.

"Look," Viktor commanded softly, pointing to a circular window on the cabin wall. Percy followed his gaze and saw the water just outside, curious creatures that even Percy couldn't name swimming past.

The Gryffindor cleared his throat. "It's lovely," he managed. He fiddled nervously with his glasses. Viktor caught the motion and removed them slowly, watching Percy closely for a reaction.

Blinking as the world became unbearably blurred, Percy regained enough of his mind to cross his arms. "I can't see, you prat."

A low laugh rumbled out of Viktor's chest. "I know," he said triumphantly. "Now you have to see vhat I see."

Percy frowned, confused, but then Viktor's hands were on his face. The world stilled.

"You think I don't notice," Viktor whispered, a touch of sadness present in his voice. "But I know you don't understand vhy I like you."

Percy pressed his lips together. He would not admit that he couldn't understand what Viktor saw in him, when he could have anyone he wanted. There were nicer men, more handsome men, more athletic men… Percy knew he was smart, but that was the only pride he allowed himself.

He'd heard people complain about his other traits far too often to believe anything else.

Viktor took his silence as a confirmation to continue. He gently ran the pads of this thumbs over Percy's cheekbones, and though Percy could hardly make out the other man's features at such a short distance, he knew that Viktor was smiling.

"Beautiful," the Bulgarian whispered.

Percy's breath shuddered. "I…"

The hands paused. "Vould you like me to stop?"

Percy shook his head; that was the one thing he did know. "No."

Krum obeyed, then pressed a kiss to Percy's forehead before running his fingers over Percy's nose, eyes, lips—

Percy sucked in a breath. Viktor pressed their lips together, swallowing Percy's gasp.

"You're stunning," Viktor promised. "So smart. So ambitious."

Percy bit Viktor's lip lightly. "Bloody tired of your teasing. Get on with it."

He _felt_ Viktor's smile. "So impatient," Viktor said, but then he was kissing Percy for real. For a moment, both were lost in their little bubble, alone in the isolated ship that had carried the Durmstrang students to Hogwarts. The glasses were forgotten for a long, long time.

But Percy didn't feel out of place in the other man's arms. Not even once.


	23. It's Just Rain

**A/N: Hey, y'all! Enjoy some silly, fluffy PercyOliver. :)**

**History of Magic Task 2: Write about someone believing that an item brings good/bad luck, or brings protection**

**Word Count: 1005**

**Enjoy!**

Percy stared at the worn, red-and-gold scarf Oliver was holding out to him. He lifted a brow, reluctant and unimpressed.

"Oliver... I'm not wearing that again. It's _May_."

Brown eyes locked onto Percy imploringly. "Perce, you know it's necessary. It's the last match of the year—we need to win if we want Gryffindor to secure the Cup!"

Percy slowly set down his book. They had this argument every time Gryffindor played Quidditch, and even once for a Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match when Oliver needed Ravenclaw to lose for a chance at the Cup. Every time, Percy caved in. Now he wondered if he should have stood his ground, because his boyfriend seemed convinced that Gryffindor's success rode on Percy wearing _that bloody scarf_.

"It isn't the scarf that's lucky," Percy insisted. "You are. Your team is. So let's just go enjoy the game, all right?"

Shaking his head frantically, Oliver thrust the item more insistently at Percy. "We can't play if you don't wear this. It would be messing with tradition—and this tradition works!"

Percy sighed heavily. He missed the days when the scarf had simply been a symbol of their relationship, a way to show support during these matches. But once Oliver recognized the so-called trend, their tradition held a new weight.

Some people got to wear their boyfriend's jersey. Percy was stuck with an old scarf that, frankly, had seen better days—and that was a _killer_ in hot weather. As nervous as Oliver clearly was, this crutch was the last thing either of them needed. With steely resolve, Percy shook his head firmly. "You fly fine at practice, love. You'll fly fine this afternoon."

Oliver looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew Percy well enough to recognize a losing battle. He sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair, biting his lip as he did so. "At least bring it with you?" he asked nervously.

Rolling his eyes, Percy grabbed the item and stuffed it in his pocket. It was a compromise he could live with, at least. He pretended not to notice Oliver's sigh of relief.

* * *

The match started out sunny and lovely. The rain came out of nowhere.

Percy had to charm his glasses dry to even have a hope of keeping up with the game; he couldn't imagine how difficult it was for the players to see, flying around as quickly as they were. He water was cold and heartless as it fell down to earth mercilessly, and Percy was shivering before long. His blue eyes scanned the area for Oliver, who seemed to just be racing from one goal post to another—Percy recognized it as a nervous habit. He watched Oliver fly and frustratedly wondered why the Gryffindor team was performing so abysmally. They couldn't all have attributed their success to Oliver's good luck charm, could they? Even _Ron and Ginny?_

He'd seen the way their eyes all snapped to his bare neck when he'd first arrived at the pitch. _Surely_ they didn't all believe Oliver's superstition. Still, Percy had to admit that ever since he and Oliver began dating in fifth year, he'd worn the scarf to every match he could attend—and they'd always won those games. Every time, without fail. He began to feel unsettled, and wished that the guilt that was beginning to creep into his mind would vanish.

Squinting through the rain, Percy watched as the Ravenclaw Chaser weaved through her Gryffindor opponents with ease. When she through the Quaffle, Oliver dove wildly for it—and missed as a clap of thunder distracted him.

"Merlin's beard," Percy hissed. He pulled the scarf out of his pocket and wrapped it quickly around his neck, then waved his arms wildly to get his boyfriend's attention. "OLIVER!"

It took a few minutes, but Oliver glanced in Percy's direction. The relief on his face was obvious, even at a distance, and Percy watched as Oliver straightened his spine with a newfound confidence.

_Please,_ Percy prayed, _start flying like I know you can fly._

It seemed to work. Once his good luck charm was back in play, Oliver transformed into an entirely different person. As a result, his team performed better, too. Rallied by their captain, they threw themselves into the game with new vigor, and the Gryffindors in the stands screamed in support. Percy stood with them, for once just as enthusiastic as the other spectators. His red curls were stuck to his forehead, he was drenched and freezing—but his eyes had never been brighter.

Gryffindor won the match—barely, and not with as much a lead as Oliver had wanted. But as his boyfriend slowly descended from the air, Percy raced to greet him. When he got close enough, he noticed how Oliver was grinning at him, giddy with good cheer.

"I told you it worked!" Strong, tan arms wrapped around Percy's shoulders as Oliver pulled him into an embrace. "I told you! We _won_!"

And as tempted as he was to insist that this was all just in Oliver's head, Percy couldn't bring himself to do so. Instead, he pressed his lips against the other boy's and resigned himself to wearing the scarf to every one of Oliver's Quidditch games for the rest of his life.

It wasn't such a terrible thing.

When another clap of thunder sounded, the two boys pulled apart. Oliver, water streaming down his face as the rain came down harder, cupped Percy's jaw. "Thanks, Perce," he said, his voice barely audible above the rain. "I know you didn't want to wear it, but it means a lot to me."

"Yes, well." Percy cleared his throat embarrassedly, a bit distracted by the feel of Oliver's hand on his face. "I suppose there's something to tradition."

Oliver laughed and squeezed his shoulder, then slung an arm around Percy. "Of course there is! Now, let's go inside before we've completely drowned."

It was too late for that, but Percy let him lead the way to the castle nevertheless.


	24. Solidarity

**A/N: Hey, y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Have some angsty Draco. :3**

**Religious Education Task 12: Write about a night that seems endless.**

**Word Count: 905**

**Enjoy!**

Draco tossed and turned in bed, but no position lulled him to sleep. There were too many thoughts racing through his mind—too many memories. And the silence. The silence was suffocating.

He remembered when this dorm had been filled with laughter, when it was a haven safe from the expectations that came from being the heir to a fortune. As much as he'd loved being a Malfoy, the pressures of always performing the best threatened to crush him. He remembered the rush of panic when an essay would be returned to him, half-certain that this would be the one that incited a lecture from his father. He remembered the stern letters after every Quidditch match he lost, the reminders to get higher marks than the _less worthy_—Granger, Draco knew his father meant—everything that served to remind him that there were expectations to uphold. Failure meant humiliation.

But not in this dorm. Here, all that stress took a backseat. He could simply exist with the other boys in his dorm: Theodore, Blaise, Vincent, and Gregory. They'd laughed together, cried together—everything together.

But the Notts had hidden away at the start of the war, carefully neutral; Draco hadn't heard from Theo since. The Blaise and his mother had fled the country, and perhaps they weren't even aware that the war was over. Gregory was awaiting trial for casting curses Draco had never had the courage to cast, his father already sentenced to Azkaban. And Vincent... Vincent was gone.

And what was Draco doing? Harry Potter had stood up for him, insisted that there hadn't been much intent behind his actions, other than keeping his family safe. And while he was right, Draco didn't feel any less guilty for his crimes—somehow, though, that had softened the Wizengamot's sentence. Work on the reconstruction of Hogwarts. House arrest on the days he wasn't working. Constant supervision by an Auror for years, check-ins later if he was on his best behavior. But he'd escaped Azkaban.

He assumed that was supposed to be a mercy, but he sometimes thought that he'd rather be locked away from the stares and whispers that always followed him.

Draco sat up in bed and dropped his head into his hands. Sleep wouldn't come to him tonight. He breathed in deeply, the cold air burning his lungs. Goosebumps erupted over his flesh, but he didn't slide back beneath the warm blankets. In a way, the cold was a distraction that he desperately needed.

He glanced at the clock, lit by the torches on the wall that never went out but dimmed at night; they were a necessity in the dungeons. Two o'clock in the morning. His lips thinned.

Draco took his wand and lit it with a quick _lumos_, then grabbed a book. He might as well do something with his time, he thought bitterly. Anything to keep his guilt at bay.

When he'd barely read three pages an hour later, he gave up. His skin was crawling with the urge to move, to escape, so he slid out of bed and grabbed a robe and slippers. It wasn't difficult to slip out of the common room, and once he was in the corridors, he could breathe easier. Even partially demolished, these halls were more familiar than the loneliness of his dorm. Draco walked for hours, waiting for the sun to rise so he could begin his day, but the moon stayed stubbornly put. Eventually, Draco began to feel... he wasn't sure. Small. Alone. Stuck.

So, even though its crumbling frame wasn't very safe, Draco climbed to the top of the Astronomy Tower; it was the closest he could get to the sky.

He stared up at the stars, so far, so distant. So cold. He felt a bitter kinship towards them.

"Couldn't sleep?"

The voice startled him, and Draco half-turned to see who had snuck up on him. His grey eyes narrowed when he realized who it was. Potter, here to save the day—predictable as clockwork. He turned his back on the wizarding world's favorite hero. "What do you want?"

Annoyance colored Potter's tone. "I only asked a question."

"It was a stupid question."

Draco thought Potter would respond angrily, or else storm off—but a sigh followed the beat of silence. "Yeah, it was."

_That_ knocked any retort out of Draco's lungs, and after a second of debating what to do, he just turned back to the sky. If Potter wanted something, he could bloody well ask for it.

He felt more than heard Potter move to stand beside him, matching Draco's pose by leaning against the balcony. "For what it's worth," Potter muttered, "I can't sleep, either."

The Slytherin closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear about the nightmares he was sure the other man suffered, or about the misplaced guilt Potter might be feeling. He just wanted to be alone, in the quiet, and figure out who he was supposed to be now that the world had been ripped out from under his feet.

He shivered in the cold night air, barely registering when Potter cast a heating charm over them both. He didn't protest.

They stood side-by-side staring out at the horizon for what felt simultaneously like eons and seconds, until the sky began to lighten to purples, pinks, and oranges.

Just two men watching the sunrise, wondering what they were supposed to do next.


	25. Time Will Tell

**A/N: Hey, y'all! Have a taste of FredAngelina, with some background Perciver. :)**

**Word Count: 480**

**Enjoy!**

"So." Angelina sat down next to Fred heavily, one brow arched. He didn't ask how she'd found him in the Quidditch stands; that witch was unstoppable. "Wood and your brother. How are you feeling about it?"

Fred turned to her, mildly surprised. "You know, Johnson, you're the only person to think that I'm upset about that and not some—some invention gone wrong, or some prank exploding."

He tried to grin at her, and it should have worked; but Angelina wasn't just any other friend. She just reached out and covered his hand with one of hers. "Cut the bullshit, Fred, and talk to me."

He managed to hold her gaze for all of ten seconds before giving in. "I like Wood," he said carefully. "He's a fantastic bloke."

"But not good enough for your brother?" Angelina guessed.

Shame pricked at the back of Fred's neck, and he ducked his head; a far cry from the confident, untouchable Fred Weasley the world was used to seeing. "Erm… the opposite, actually." He swallowed thickly and turned back to Angelina, his blue eyes challenging her to say something. "You can say it," he told her, his words biting. "I'm a horrible brother."

"I don't think you're a horrible brother," Angelina said slowly, but Fred interrupted her with a self-deprecating laugh.

"I think Oliver Wood is too good for my brother. I _should_ be thinking the opposite, yet here are."

"Fred," Angelina said sharply, "stop that."

Fred blinked at her, then slumped. "Sorry," he muttered. "I just… what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing!" Angelina leaned forwards and cupped Fred's face in her hands. "Fred, you have a better relationship with Oliver than you do with Percy, from what I can tell. And that's not a bad thing. If you're closer to Oliver, of _course_ you'd think like that. But what matters is that you give them both a chance. Like it or not, Weasley, they picked each other. And maybe you can use this as an opportunity to get to know your brother a bit better."

Fred looked at her with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "You think so?"

Angelina pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. "I do," she promised.

And just like that, Fred felt better. He beamed at his girlfriend. "You know, Johnson, you're really something special." His tone was joking, but his words were dead serious. Angelina picked up on his true meaning, and a smile softened her features.

"I know, Weasley." She winked at him, then released his face and got to her feet. "Come on, Fred. We have classes to get to, you know."

"Or we could stay here," Fred proposed, grinning widely.

Angelina gave him a hard look that had him scurrying to his feet. "On second thought," he said, "History of Magic sounds absolutely _riveting._"

Angelina's laugh filled the empty stadium, and Fred's heart felt lighter.


End file.
